Jess took Jack's hand reluctantly, her grip trembling with a mix of fear and exhaustion. He helped her to her feet, offering a steady presence in the chaos of the ruined faction. Together, they stepped out of the crumbling building and into the thick fog that hung like a veil over the shattered town. The cold air bit at their skin as they moved quietly through the abandoned streets, Jack leading Jess toward the town square where the rest of the team was gathered.
As Jack approached with a stranger at his side, the team turned to watch. Ein's eyes narrowed slightly, her heart tensing. That all-too-familiar tinge of jealousy prickled at her—though she'd never admit it aloud.
"Everyone," Jack began, his tone shifting into the commanding clarity of a seasoned soldier, "this is Jess. She explained to me that the Knights of Ciradil are responsible for what happened here. They destroyed this town and took her brother captive."
Jack stood with squared shoulders, his voice calm and resolute. It was the same way he used to brief his soldiers back in his world—concise, confident, and deliberate. The rest of the team listened closely, sensing the gravity of what he was about to say.
"First thing tomorrow morning, we'll launch an operation to retrieve him. In return, Jess has agreed to share everything the rebellion has gathered on the kingdoms—and the World Government Faction."
A moment of silence passed before each member gave a firm nod of agreement. The plan was risky, but it was something they could rally behind. Jack's clarity of purpose gave them a sense of direction amidst the chaos.
"We'll rest here for the night. The enemy encampment isn't far from this location. I want everyone awake and geared up by zero five hundred hours. Eat. Rest. Gather your strength."
With that, Jack turned on his heel and walked off, his presence commanding even in silence. He found an old, half-burnt chair still intact near one of the campfires and sank into it with a long exhale. Pulling apart his rifle, he began cleaning it methodically—muscle memory guiding his hands. The quiet clicks of metal were a familiar sound, grounding him as thoughts of the coming battle raced through his mind.
Across the square, Ein watched him carefully. She could tell, even from a distance, that he wasn't fully present. His body sat by the fire, but his mind was somewhere far away—maybe tomorrow's battlefield, maybe back in the world he came from. Was he thinking about the mission? About who they might lose? About a past he never talked about?
Whatever it was, she felt a pang in her chest. She wanted to walk over, to sit beside him, to offer her comfort—her presence—but something in his posture stopped her.
Just as she took a step forward, Talon stepped into her path, his armor clinking softly.
"Give him some time, Ein," he said gently, his deep voice carrying a quiet wisdom. "He has a lot on his mind. I can see it—he's haunted in ways we may never understand. Your intentions are good, but… he needs space right now."
Ein opened her mouth to argue, but the conviction in Talon's eyes stopped her. He rested a hand on her shoulder—a rare gesture of comfort from the stoic warrior—then turned and made his way toward the bonfire, where Monte sat cross-legged, stoking the flames.
Jack remained seated, running a cloth down the barrel of his rifle. Each motion was deliberate, calming, but beneath that stillness, his thoughts churned. Tomorrow they would face an enemy they knew nothing about. No recon. No terrain analysis. No tactical advantage. It was suicide by any conventional standard.
But nothing about this world was conventional.
Jack tightened a screw, checked the bolt, and stared into the fire. This wasn't just another mission. This world was rewriting him, piece by piece—and tomorrow, it would demand even more.
The warmth of the fire flickered across Jack's face, dancing shadows playing along the edge of his sharp features. The metal in his hands gleamed dully in the low light, each piece of his M4 methodically tended to. It was a ritual—one that gave his restless mind something to anchor to. But even the familiar weight of the rifle couldn't quiet the storm within.
He didn't notice Monte until the mage sat down beside him.
The quiet descent of the fire-wielder's tired frame into the cracked wooden chair nearby barely made a sound, but it broke the silence like a ripple on still water.
"You always clean your weapons like they're sacred relics," Monte said, his voice soft, almost thoughtful.
Jack didn't look up. "It's the only thing I know still works the way it's supposed to."
Monte chuckled quietly, rubbing his calloused hands together over the fire. "I get that. Magic doesn't always obey the rules either. But sometimes, when the world's falling apart… you find something to keep your hands busy so your heart doesn't crack open."
Jack was silent for a long beat. Then, "You think it's stupid?"
"No," Monte said simply. "I think it's human."
The mage leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You carry this weight like you're the only one who can bear it. Like the fate of this team—and maybe this world—rests entirely on your shoulders."
Jack finally glanced sideways. "You think it doesn't?"
Monte met his eyes. "I think that if you keep thinking that way, you'll break. And if you break, we all fall with you."
Jack looked away again, lips pressed into a tight line. The rifle was clean, but he kept disassembling and reassembling it anyway—hands moving with mechanical precision.
"Back in my world," Jack muttered, "I led missions into places where death was a guarantee. I watched good people die doing everything right. And here… it's the same. Except the rules are made by things I don't even understand. Necromancers. Goblins. Gods."
He paused, eyes distant.
"Now we're charging into an enemy camp with no intel, no backup, and no extraction plan. And I'm leading them straight into it."
Monte was quiet for a moment, letting Jack's words settle into the space between them.
"We follow you because you don't pretend to have all the answers," Monte said. "You see the danger, and you still go. That's leadership, Jack. It's not about knowing everything. It's about moving forward even when you don't."
Jack gave a bitter chuckle. "Inspirational."
Monte shrugged. "You'd prefer I lie to you and say it'll all work out?"
"No," Jack said quietly. "I'd prefer it did."
They sat in silence again, the fire crackling gently between them.
Monte finally stood, stretching slowly. "You don't have to carry this alone, Jack. Let us share the weight. Trust us to hold the line with you."
Jack gave a subtle nod, the tiniest flicker of appreciation crossing his face. Monte walked away, his footsteps soft against the ash-covered earth.
Alone again, Jack stared into the flames. The words had helped more than he'd admit, but the dread remained. The morning would come fast—and with it, blood and fire.
But at least now, he didn't feel entirely alone.
The fire was dying down, casting long, slow shadows across the ruins. Jack sat with his rifle resting across his knees, still as stone. Most of the team had settled into makeshift bedding or kept quiet watch around the perimeter.
Soft footsteps approached.
He didn't need to look up to know it was Ein.
She didn't say anything at first. She just stood there beside him, the silence between them heavier than armor. Then she slowly knelt beside his chair, her eyes searching his face.
"You're always so far away after a fight," she whispered.
Jack glanced at her. "I'm right here."
"No, you're not," she said, her voice barely above a breath. "You're somewhere else. Somewhere I can't follow."
He didn't answer.
Ein reached out and placed her hand gently over his. "Whatever's waiting for us tomorrow… I don't care if we win or lose. I just care that you come back."
Her fingers curled around his. "So promise me, Jack. No matter what happens—you fight to come back to me. Not because you're the leader. Not because you have to. But because I need you to."
Jack's gaze finally met hers. For a moment, all the weight he carried seemed to falter. Then he gave her the faintest nod.
"I promise."
Ein leaned in, pressed her forehead softly against his, and closed her eyes.
"Good," she whispered. "Then I can sleep."
She stood and walked away into the dark, leaving Jack with a heart that finally—if only for a moment—felt a little less heavy.
Jack put all his weapons back together and walked over to where he would be sleeping. He laid his weapons on the ground and lay down next to them. He looked up at the stars overhead.
His mind kept wandering. This team trusted him with their life. They are willing to go to war with him even if it means sacrificing themselves. Is it because of the prophesy? Or is it because they have grown so attached to him as their leader.
Jack didn't know for sure, but he couldn't question it now, he would need their help and all their focus for tomorrow's mission.
As he lay there gazing at the stars, his eyelids began to get heavy until finally he drifted to sleep.